


don't stand so close (to me)

by alotofthingsdifferent



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Billet AU, Consensual Underage Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 19:14:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3702769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alotofthingsdifferent/pseuds/alotofthingsdifferent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What he'd expected was a pimply-faced teenager with longish "hockey hair" and an attitude problem.</p><p>What he'd expected was an ill-mannered, sloppy kid who thought just because he'd made a juniors team, his shit didn't stink.</p><p>What he'd expected was anything but the kid standing on his doorstep, all shy smile and doe-eyes, a duffle bag thrown over his shoulder and a pink tint to his cheeks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't stand so close (to me)

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains consensual sex between an adult and a teenager, so if that's not your bag, you should probably move on. 
> 
> Big thanks to everyone who helped me work through this and get past that "oh my god I can't believe I'm doing this" hump. I'm really happy with the way it turned out.
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](Http://alotofthingsdifferent.tumblr.com)!

When Brent had agreed, after much coercing on Duncan's part, to volunteer as a billet family for one of Duncan's junior hockey players, he thought he knew what he was getting himself into.

He'd been a 16-year-old kid once, too, a 16-year-old hockey player, even. How hard could it be to give the kid a room and three square meals a day and make sure he didn't miss a practice? 

"Built-in babysitter, too," Duncan made sure to remind him. "Alice will probably love him--someone closer to her age helping her work on her slap shot," he'd laughed, and fine. Fine, Brent was in.

What he'd expected was a pimply-faced teenager with longish "hockey hair" and an attitude problem.

What he'd expected was an ill-mannered, sloppy kid who thought just because he'd made a juniors team, his shit didn't stink.

What he'd expected was anything but the kid standing on his doorstep, all shy smile and doe-eyes, a duffle bag thrown over his shoulder and a pink tint to his cheeks.

"Hi," the kid says. "Uh, I'm Jonathan." Brent stares at him for a long moment, words caught in this throat. Jonathan bites his lower lip and looks over his shoulder at Duncan, who has yet to get out of the car. 

"Sorry, sorry," Brent says, clearing his throat. "I'm Brent. It's nice to meet you." He extends a hand and Jonathan takes it, his palm cool and dry against Brent's. He's tall and lean, muscular but in that teenage boy kind of way. 

"Thank you so much for volunteering to have me," Jonathan says earnestly. "I know it's a lot to ask of someone and I promise I won't get in your way."

"Uh. Yeah, of course. It's not a problem. Come on in, I'll show you where to put your stuff." 

Jonathan brushes past him and stops in the foyer, turning over his shoulder to give Brent a warm smile that goes all the way to his dark brown eyes.

Brent is so fucked. 

\--

The next morning, he wakes to the sound of Alice’s laughter drifting up the stairs. The smell of coffee follows, and he stretches, rolling over onto his side as he fumbles for the alarm clock on his bedside table.

The digits flash 9:30, and he can’t remember the last time he’s slept this late. 

He pulls on a pair of pants and pads down the stairs in bare feet, scratching at the two-days-old stubble on his chin. “Good morning,” he says as he rounds the corner into the kitchen.

“Daddy!” Alice exclaims, jumping down from the chair she’d been standing on to wrap her arms tightly around his legs. “Jonathan’s teaching me to cook breakfast!”

He lifts her into his arms and kisses her cheek. “Is that so?” he asks. “I thought I smelled bacon.”

 

“And coffee,” Jonathan adds, and Brent finally allows his gaze to fall on Jonathan standing at the stove. He’s shirtless in nylon shorts that hang low on his lean frame, the cut of his hips evident even from Brent’s side view of his body.

He makes his way across the kitchen and hands Brent a mug. “I always made breakfast at home, so I figured I’d help out and let you sleep in a little,” he says with a sweet smile. “I hope that’s ok.”

“Jonathan is a really good cooker, Daddy. He let me try the bacon and it’s super good.”

“That’s really nice of you, kid,” Brent says. “Thanks.” Jonathan beams at him, and Brent gives serious consideration to investing in a set of blinders for the next 9 months.  
\--

Against his better judgement, he complains about it to Patrick. “You don’t even know, Sharpy. When the fuck did 16-year-olds start looking like models?”

Sharpy laughs delightedly at Brent’s plight. “There’s only a ten year difference, man,” he says, and Brent makes a face, shoving at Sharpy’s shoulder. “I gotta see this kid,” he says, looking around. “He home?”

Brent shakes his head, taking a slow pull from his beer. “Practice,” he says. “Should be home any minute, which means you need to get out of here.”

“Where’s Alice in Wonderland?” Sharpy asks, ignoring him. 

“Asleep, thank god,” Brent says. “She’s been up late every night this week, waiting for the kid to get home.”

Sharpy grins. “So he’s charmed the both of you, huh?”

“Shut up,” Brent says, pulling a face. “God, I’m a dirty old man, aren’t I.”

“Eh,” Sharpy says with a shrug. “No judgement here, man. You haven’t gotten laid in a while, soooo --”

“Fuck off,” Brent says, snatching Sharpy’s empty bottle from his hand. “No more beer for you.”

His head jerks to the side when he hears the front door open, followed by the thud of Jonathan’s equipment hitting the floor. Sharpy’s grinning devilishly, and Brent shoots him a warning look.

“Hey,” Jonathan says as he comes into the room. His hair is still wet from the shower, cheeks pink from practice. “I’m starving, is there --”

Brent nods towards the kitchen, shielding Jonathan from Sharpy’s view. “Spaghetti on the stove. Might want to warm it up a little.”

Jonathan’s eyes flick to the empty beer bottles in Brent’s hand. “Do you have company? I’m sorry, did I interrupt--”

“No! No, you didn’t interrupt anything,” Brent says, ushering him into the kitchen. “Here, let me get you some --”

“Hi!” comes Sharpy’s voice from behind them, and god damn it, Brent thinks. “You must be Jonathan,” he says, extending a hand. “I’m Patrick.”

Jonathan smiles that smile and shakes Sharpy’s hand. “Nice to meet you,” he says. “I’m sorry if I barged in at the wrong time.”

“No, you’re fine. I was just leaving,” he says, throwing Brent an exaggerated wink. “See you later, man. Thanks for the beers.”

Brent grumbles a goodbye and goes back to fixing Jonathan’s dinner.

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices the kid’s fiddling with the hem of his shirt nervously. “Everything ok?” Brent asks.

“I’m really sorry if I interrupted something,” Jonathan says -- again. “Was that, uh. Was he your boyfriend?”

Brent nearly chokes. “Sharpy? God, no, Sharpy’s not -- no. We’re just buddies. Known him half my life.”

“Oh,” Jonathan says, and Brent’s probably mistaken, but he swears the kid looks relieved. “He’s pretty hot.”

Wait -- what?

“What?” Brent says, a little hysterically.

“He’s a good looking guy,” Jonathan says with a shrug as he sits down at the kitchen table. 

“Oh,” Brent says dumbly. “Yeah, I uh, I guess he is. Not really my type.”

“Really?” Jonathan says, scrunching his nose. “That guy should be everybody’s type.”

That gets a laugh from Brent, and Jonathan smiles. “Yeah, kid, I guess you’re right. He should be.”

He sets Jonathan’s dinner in front of him, hovering for a moment. “You need anything else? I’m gonna take a shower and hit the sack.”

Jonathan shovels a forkful of noodles into his mouth and shakes his head. “G’night,” he says between bites.

“Good night, Jonathan.”

Brent jerks off under the shower’s spray thinking about Jonny’s lips. He comes out feeling a lot less clean than he had when he went in.

\--

The weeks pass quickly. Between work, Alice’s mite practices, and Jonny’s games, Brent’s exhausted most nights, falling into bed before he barely has his shirt off. Thanksgiving is tomorrow, and Brent’s looking forward to four days off and no hockey for a week.

“You going out tonight?” Jonathan asks as they stand in the kitchen, peeling sweet potatoes and making stuffing. For being so young (so, so young, Brent reminds himself every day), Jonathan’s a great cook, and he’s been a huge help around the house, too.

“Probably not,” Brent says. “Big day tomorrow.” They’re hosting Sharpy and his wife and kids for Thanksgiving, and he wants everything to be perfect. “And it’s short notice to find a sitter.”

Jonathan gives him a look.

“What?” he asks.

“Brent, all you have to do is ask and I’ll hang out with Alice. I think I’m old enough to babysit,” he says, rolling his eyes playfully.

“I don’t know,” he says hesitantly, but Jonathan’s already rinsing his hands off and handing Brent the phone. “Call Sharpy or Coach Keith. You deserve to have a little fun.”

“Are you sure?” Brent asks, even as he’s texting Sharpy _you wanna hit the bar for a few?_

“Positive. Get out of here, I’ll take care of the rest of this.”

Brent’s first mistake was missing the devilish smirk on Jonathan’s face when he knew he’d won.

His second mistake was letting Sharpy talk him into tequila shots. “C’mon, Seabs, live a little!” he’d said, clapping him on the back. Duncs just shook his head and toasted them with his glass of water. Brent wished he’d been the one to volunteer to be the sober driver.

By the time Duncs drops him off, it’s near midnight. He’s not drunk, but he’s relaxed, the edges of his vision a little hazy and a warm buzz thrumming through his veins. The house is dark when he gets in, and he closes the door behind him quietly, ducking into the kitchen for a glass of water. He can hear the low hum of the television from the living room, and when he risks a glance around the corner, he sees the top of Jonathan’s head from behind the couch. (His third mistake was assuming the kid was asleep.)

He has to cross the living room to reach the stairs that lead to the second level (and his bedroom), so he snags a blanket from the hall closet with the intention of draping it over Jonathan before going to bed.

Jonathan, it turns out, is not sleeping.

He meets Brent’s gaze through half-lidded eyes, and it takes Brent a long moment to realize that his shorts are pushed down past his thighs.

“Shit, I’m --” Brent manages before Jonathan cuts him off. 

“Hey,” he says, his voice rough, “Did you have fun?”

“You’re -- I can’t -- _Jonathan_ ,” he sputters, and the kid blinks at him with those dark doe-eyes. “I’m not having a conversation with you while you’re -- you’re --”

Jonathan grins -- _grins_ \-- and says, “You can say it, Brent. While I’m jerking off.”

“Oh my god,” Brent says, and it all comes out in a rush of words. He needs to get out of here. He should not be seeing this, and his dick should most certainly not be chubbing up in his jeans as he stands here. If only he could get his feet to move.

“Feels good,” Jonathan breathes, and Brent’s eyes absolutely do _not_ drop to the kid’s hand between his legs, long fingers wrapped around his shaft, stroking lazily. “Wanna join?”

Brent tries to keep his cool. He really does. But his dick is filling and his neck is flushed and fuck, he’s going straight to hell.

He clears his throat and averts his gaze. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, kid,” he manages, and he risks a glance back at Jonathan, who pulls a face.

“I’ll be 17 in April. I’m not a --” he gasps, hips arching off the couch. “Kid.”

Brent swallows hard and runs both hands through his hair. “I’ll just leave you alone to uh, finish, eh? We’ll pretend this never happened.”

“What if --” Jonathan starts, his breath coming in soft pants, “I don’t want to pretend it never happened?”

Brent gapes at him. He half-expects Sharpy to jump out from the closet shouting, “Gotcha!”

“I want you to watch me,” Jonathan whispers. 

“You don’t mean that,” Brent says, and he doesn’t like the helpless tone in his voice.

“I _do_ mean it,” Jonny says, eyes on Brent. “I’ve been - ah - trying to get you to notice me for _weeks_.”

And that -- ok. That actually makes a lot of sense now that Brent thinks about it.

Jonathan’s been nothing but polite and helpful since he arrived. He’s great with Alice (her slapshot has, in fact, improved, fuck you Duncs), he does his own laundry (and some of Brent’s) without being asked, and he helps with dinner whenever he’s home in time.

He also spends most of his time hanging out in low-slung nylon shorts and no shirt, brushing up against Brent while they’re cooking dinner, reaching across him on the couch to grab for the remote, brushing his fingers over Brent’s palm every time Brent hands him the car keys. Brent’s always thought it was innocent and unintentional.

He’s quickly learning that nothing about Jonathan Toews is innocent.

“This is a really, really bad idea,” Brent says, mostly to himself, and damn it, why can’t he just walk away? 

“You don’t have to touch me,” Jonathan says, and oh god, Brent just caught sight of his thumb sweeping over the head of his cock. “You can just watch. I like -- mmm -- I like you watching me.”

Tomorrow, Brent will blame it on the alcohol. He’ll blame it on the fact that he hasn’t gotten laid in months. He’ll blame it on the fact that Sharpy is a dick. He’ll blame it on the rain, he doesn’t even care. Jonathan is the hottest thing he’s ever seen, and when he sits down on the couch beside him, Jonathan’s thigh pressed against his, he forgets all the reasons why he shouldn’t be doing this.

(He’ll be remembering the shudder of Jonathan’s body next to his, the way he bit his lower lip when he came all over his own fist, for the rest of his life.)

\--

Brent lays in bed for longer than he should the next morning. He can hear Alice and Jonathan banging around in the kitchen, and he knows Jonathan’s fixing breakfast. A glance at the clock tells Brent he should probably get up so he can put the turkey in the oven, but he’s trying really hard to avoid the bound-to-be-awkward “good mornings” between him and Jonathan.

He considers going back to sleep, but then he hears the sound of little feet bounding up the stairs and knows he’s missed his chance. “Daddy!” Alice exclaims, clambering onto the bed and tucking herself under Brent’s arm. “Jonathan says you gotta get up so we can put the turkey in!”

Brent kisses her head and holds her close. “Oh he did, did he,” he says. “I better get my lazy butt out of bed then, huh?” She giggles and kisses his cheek before squirming out of his grip and skipping out of the room.

He sits up and stretches, his fingers linked as he draws his arms above his head. “That’s a nice sight,” comes Jonathan’s voice, and Brent startles.

“Jesus,” he breathes, turning his head to find Jonathan leaning against the bedroom door frame, arms crossed over his bare chest and a wicked grin on his face. “Uh.” He scrambles for the sheets, pulling them up over his body. Jonathan laughs, and he’s pushing off the door frame and crossing the room before Brent can stop him. (He barely registers that the kid swings the door closed behind him.)

“Where’s Alice?” Brent asks, fists clenched in his blankets where he has them rucked up against his chest.

“Watching Spongebob,” Jonathan says casually, and then he’s knee-walking up the bed towards Brent.

“Uh,” Brent says. “What are you doing?” 

“Call me Jonny,” he says, ignoring the question. “Jonathan’s too -- proper.”

“Proper,” Brent says flatly, ignoring the way Jonathan’s knee is pressed against his thigh.

He nods, chewing his lower lip and looking thoughtful. “Did you like it?”

Brent feels the heat of the flush building on his chest, working its way up his neck. “Did I like what?” he tries, but he’s not fooling anyone, least of all this kid.

Jonathan -- Jonny now, apparently -- rolls his eyes, swatting Brent’s leg. “Don’t play dumb. And why are you all covered up?” he asks, tugging at the sheets where Brent’s got them tucked around himself protectively. 

“I’m not -- stop it,” Brent complains half-heartedly, tugging back. Jonny moves closer, leaning in, his voice quiet. 

“Did you like watching me?”

“I can’t -- I’m not -- _fuck_ , kid, I’m not answering that.”

Jonny grins triumphantly. “We’re doing it again,” he says, moving to stand next to the bed. 

Brent shakes his head, cheeks hot. “No, we are absolutely not.”

“We are,” Jonny says confidently, and then he leans in again, hands braced on the mattress as he gets in Brent’s space, his voice dropping. “And next time, _I_ get to watch _you._ ”

Brent groans and pulls the covers over his head, his hand slipping between his legs as soon as he hears the door click shut.

\--

“What’s up with you and the kid?” Sharpy asks hours later, when the table’s been cleared and the girls are running around the living room playing knee hockey. They’re in the kitchen washing dishes (Abby volunteered Sharpy so she and Jonny could get it on the game) and Brent nearly drops the plate in his hand.

“What? Nothing,” he snaps, passing the plate to Sharpy to dry. 

“Liar,” Sharpy says with a grin. “You can’t look him in the eye and he can’t keep _his_ off of you. _Something_ is going on.”

Brent rolls his eyes and hands Sharpy another plate. “You’re delusional. Nothing’s going on.”

“Sure, Seasbie. Whatever you say,” Sharpy laughs, looking over his shoulder as Maddie and Alice come bouncing into the kitchen.

“Daddy!”

“Uncle Seabs!”

Brent can’t help but laugh as they wrap themselves around each of his legs. “Daddy, Auntie Abby said it was ok if I have a sleepover with Maddie tonight. Can I? Please please please?”

“We’re gonna make cookies!” Maddie exclaims, and Brent throws Sharpy a pleading looks. Sharpy just shrugs. 

“They are,” he says. 

“We’d love to have her, Brent,” Abby says as she strolls into the kitchen, Sadie on her hip. 

“Yeah, Brent,” Sharpy says. “It’ll give you a nice break. Besides, there’s nothing going on here anyway, right?” Brent wants to kill him. “Alice in Wonderland will have _much_ more fun with us.”

Alice giggles as Sharpy sweeps her off her feet and into his arms. “Why don’t you and Maddie go get your things together, huh?” He presses a kiss to her temple before he sets her back down and watches the girls scramble out of the kitchen, giggling.

"Perfect," Sharpy says with a knowing grin. "Now you and Jonathan can have a guys' night."

Brent glares and tries to ignore the anxious flip in his stomach.

He's in so much trouble. 

\--

Alice has been gone for an hour and Brent still hasn’t left his room. If he’s being honest, he doesn’t trust himself around Jonny, not with an empty house and the image of Jonny jerking off on the couch seared into his brain. He’s both relieved and disappointed that Jonny hasn’t sought him out tonight, and he’s not sure what that says about the situation at this point. What he does know is, he feels guilty as hell for disappearing to his room and leaving the kid to fend for himself on a holiday, when he’s away from his family and probably feeling lonely. He’s about to head downstairs and ask if Jonny wants to watch a movie when there’s a soft knock on his door.

He hears Jonny’s voice muffled voice on the other side. “Brent? Can I come in?”

“Sure, yeah,” Brent says. swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “C’mon in.”

The door opens and Jonny stands at the threshold, lower lip sucked between his teeth. He’s fully clothed, in sweats and a tshirt, which is new, Brent notes. “What’s up?” Brent asks.

Jonny hesitates for a moment before blurting, “I’m sorry.”

“Uh -- ok?” 

"I'm sorry I was being so pushy and acting like that, I'm so embarrassed -- I just wanted you to notice me, and now I ruined everything,” he says in a rush. His cheeks are pink, and he’s looking everywhere but Brent’s face. “God, I NEVER should have listened to Kaner, he always has the worst ideas.” (Brent has no idea who Kaner is, but he’s guessing that’s who put Jonny up to the whole Lolita act.) “I understand if you want me to leave, I know you're avoiding me and I made you uncomfortable and I'm--

"Jonny. JONNY," Brent says, stopping him before this gets out of hand. "Hey. Chill, ok? You didn't ruin anything." 

He’s still standing in the doorway.

"C'mere," Brent tells him, and Jonny does, sits down next to Brent on the bed but still won't look at him.

"You're right," he says. "I _am_ avoiding you." Jonny groans and covers his face with this hands, the back of his neck blotchy red. Brent hesitates for a second and reaches over, gently pulling on Jonny's wrists. "But not because you made me uncomfortable."

Jonny looks at him out of the corner of his eye.

Brent sighs softly, nudging Jonny's shoulder. "I noticed, ok? I noticed you. I've been noticing you, and it's -- god, kid, it's just not a good idea, right?" 

Jonny shrugs. 

"Jonny. Have you ever even messed around with a guy?"

"Yes, I have!" Jonny says indignantly. "My buddy Dan and I did stuff back home."

Brent can't help but smile. "Did stuff?"

"We -- he --" Jonny goes red again, and Brent can't believe this is the same kid who jerked off in front of him a couple nights ago.

"If you can't even talk about it, Jonny, I think --"

"He jacked me off," Jonny interrupts. "And I blew him."

Brent blinks, surprised. "Oh. Okay. So you've got a little experience then."

Jonny nods. "I wanna get more."

Brent chuckles softly. "I'm sure you do, kid. But I'm probably not the best person to do it with."

"Why not?" Jonny asks, and it's not whiny or petulant. It's genuine. "I know what I'm doing, Brent. It's not like --"

"Not like what?" Brent asks gently.

"I know you probably think I just go around throwing myself at older guys or something."

"In my defense, you jacked off in front of me, on purpose."

Jonny flushes again. "Fuck, I can't believe I did that," Jonny complains. "Fucking Kaner, he said if I could just get you to look at me..."

"I was already looking, kid," Brent admits reluctantly. "You didn't need to put on a soft-core porn show for me."

Jonny sighs softly. "I blew it, didn't I."

"I don't --" Brent runs both hands through his hair, torn between pushing Jonny from the room and pulling him into his lap. "What do you want here?"

"Seriously?" Jonny asks, and he finally meets Brent's eyes. 

Brent swallows hard at the obvious desire he sees in Jonny's eyes. "Yeah, Jonny. Seriously."

"I wanna touch you."

Brent makes a strangled sound and buries his face in his hands. 

"I'm sorry," Jonny blurts, scrambling to his feet. "I'll just --"

Brent surprises them both by reaching out to grab Jonny by the hand. "Ok, kid,” he says quietly.

Jonny's eyes go a little wide, and Brent can tell he's fighting a smile. "Ok?"

"Yeah," Brent says, spreading his legs so Jonny can step between them. "Ok."

Jonny’s hands come up between them, resting on Brent’s chest. He slides his palms up over Brent’s shoulders and back down again, thumbs swiping over Brent’s nipples. Even through his shirt, the touch sends shocks of pleasure up Brent’s spine. 

“What do you want to do?” Brent asks, letting himself reach out and cup Jonny’s hips, pulling him in closer. 

Jonny chews on his lower lip, thumbing Brent’s nipples again. “Can I kiss you?” he asks softly, and Brent nods, tugging on Jonny’s hips again, pulling him down onto his lap.

The first brush of Jonny’s mouth against his is electric. Jonny gasps when Brent tilts his head to deepen the kiss, sucking lightly on his lower lip. “Okay?” Brent asks, and Jonny nods, leaning in to kiss him again.

He runs one hand up Jonny’s spine, over his shirt, and palms the back of his neck, squeezing gently as his thumb draws gentle circles just below Jonny’s hairline. At the first slide of their tongues together, Jonny groans, his hips jerking sharply. 

Brent pulls back, searching Jonny’s face. “If anything happens that you’re not comfortable with, you need to tell me, ok?”

Jonny nods, his breath coming in small pants. His erection is tenting his sweats, and Brent’s own dick jerks in his pants when Jonny whispers, “Can I take your shirt off?”

His fingertips skate up Brent’s sides as he does it, trailing over Brent’s biceps as he pulls the shirt up and off, letting it fall to the floor next to the bed. He licks his lips, eyes all over Brent’s body, and Brent has to close his own eyes for a second to collect himself. 

Jonny stands up then, pulls his own shirt up and over his head, and Brent scoots back on the bed, holding a hand out to Jonny. Jonny takes it and lets Brent tug him in, rolling them both onto their sides so they’re facing each other. 

“Hey,” Brent says softly, circling Jonny’s wrist in his fingers. “Whatever you’re comfortable with, ok? We can stop any time.”  
Jonny nods, following the movement as Brent guides his hand between his legs. His breath catches when Jonny closes his fingers around the outline of his cock, squeezing experimentally. “Does that -- is that good?” Jonny asks, eyes locked on Brent’s lower body. 

“Fuck, _yeah,_ , kid, that’s great,” Brent breathes, rolling onto his back to give Jonny better access. He reaches over and tilts Jonny’s chin up with two fingers. “Are you sure? We can stop right now, pretend this never happened.”

Jonny shakes his head, eyes back on Brent’s erection. “I don’t wanna stop,” Jonny says, and then his hand is down Brent’s pants and Brent’s hips are bucking off the bed. He can’t remember the last time he was touched like this, not by anyone but his own hand, and it’s incredible. It’s almost too much, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut, bite hard on his lower lip, to stop from coming right then. 

“Oh my god,” Jonny whispers, like he’s in complete awe. “You’re so fucking hot.”

Brent can’t help but chuckle, and he reaches out to thread his fingers through Jonny’s hair. “As hot as Sharpy?” he teases, and Jonny licks his lips.

“Way hotter,” he says, leaning in to kiss Brent again as he strokes him slowly. “Can you --” he says between kisses. “Will you tell me how you like it?”

Brent swallows a groan. “How about,” he says, “You keep kissing me, and I”ll show you.” He pushes his pants down over his hips and covers Jonny’s hand with his own, guiding Jonny’s movements, adding pressure and taking it away in a slow, steady rhythm that’s got his thighs trembling. “Fuck, Jonny,” he manages. “Yeah, that’s it, just like that.” Jonny twists his wrist and bites at Brent’s lower lip and Brent bucks up, fucking into Jonny’s fist as he comes all over his own stomach, gasping into Jonny’s mouth.

He hears Jonny make a strangled sound next to him and opens his eyes just time to see him pull his cock out, long fingers wrapped tightly around it as he jacks himself over Brent’s thighs. “Can I --” he doesn’t have time to finish the question before his hips jerk forward, ribbons of come striping Brent’s thighs. 

“Jesus Christ,” Brent breathes, throwing an arm over his face. 

“I’m so sorry, I couldn’t --”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Brent says, licking his lips. “Fuck, that was the hottest thing that’s happened to me in awhile. I’m going to hell.”

He feels Jonny shift next to him, shivers at the touch of Jonny’s lips to his shoulder. “No you’re not,” Jonny says. “Don’t say that. It makes me feel -- weird.”

“You didn’t already?”

“C’mon,” Jonny says. “I know what I want, Brent, I’m old enough to think for myself. We -- I mean. We get along really well, right? And you make me laugh, and we have a lot in common. And you’re fun to hang around, and you’re hot, so, I mean. So what if I’m younger?”

“Younger is an understatement, kid.”

“Stop calling me that,” Jonny says firmly. “Look, if you don’t want to do this, fine, but don’t act like I’m some kid you took advantage of, because that’s _not_ what this is.”

Brent looks at him then, impressed. “How did you get to be so mature, huh?”

Jonny shrugs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Shut up.”

Brent props himself up on his elbows, surveying the mess on his body and taking in Jonny’s long, lean form pressed against him. “If this is gonna be a thing, we’re gonna have to stock up kleenex or something,” Brent says, waving a hand over the come drying on his stomach and legs.

Jonny grins and buries his face in Brent’s neck. “I’ll make a run tomorrow.”


End file.
